<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>somewhere in between together by apaixono</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24072040">somewhere in between together</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/apaixono/pseuds/apaixono'>apaixono</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>EXO (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Friends With Benefits, M/M, Making Out, Pining, aka the only spice in this fic, but without actual smut lmaoooo, honestly this is just 9k of yearning, how is that not an existing tag already, sorry lol, yearningTM</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:08:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24072040</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/apaixono/pseuds/apaixono</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>how do you like your eggs in the morning?</p><p>or: a love story, told in breakfasts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Junmyeon | Suho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>somewhere in between together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>day n of quarantine: the skies are clear, the stars are visible, ao3 user apaixono is back on her sudi seemingly unrequited pining agenda. nature is healing, we are the virus</p><p>(hope y'all are safe during these trying times!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>over easy</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Of all the sounds that Kyungsoo expected to hear tonight, Junmyeon’s soft snoring is not one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls over with a soft grunt, still feeling sore and sticky to find the elder in a light doze, mouth slightly ajar. How Junmyeon could fall asleep moments after they both finished going at it like rabbits (hey, it’s been a hard week, alright?) is beyond him, but he also doesn’t have the heart to wake him. The low light from his bedroom lamp makes Junmyeon’s face seem thinner, older, sadder; the shadows make his normally plump cheeks look pale, and accentuates just how dark the circles under his eyes are. Carefully, carefully, Kyungsoo manages to crawl out of his bed and go to the bathroom to clean himself up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One well-deserved hot shower later (where Kyungsoo admittedly falls asleep at one point), he exits the bathroom to find Junmyeon still asleep, curled up like a tiny child. Or a shrimp. His feet are burrowed under the blanket they pushed to the foot of the bed, although it seems futile since he's still unclothed from earlier’s, ah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>activities</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He seems so tired, and it almost feels wrong to wake him, but Kyungsoo faintly remembers that the elder has an early morning class tomorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Junmyeon hyung," He says softly, perching on the edge of the bed and gently shaking his arm. "Hey, hyung, wake up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mn?" Junmyeon stirs faintly, barely registering Kyungsoo’s form in the dark. He lets out a huge yawn before squinting at the latter, trying (and failing) to take him in without his glasses. “Did I fall asleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Long day? You seem tired.” Kyungsoo hands him a clean towel, which the elder accepts gratefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup. Guess the past few weeks of running on empty is catching up on me.” Junmyeon smiles wryly as he finishes wiping himself down and grabs his discarded shirt from the floor. “Ah, well. What time is it? Are the buses still running?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyungsoo glances at the clock on top of his study desk; the buses </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> still operational, but he doesn’t have the heart to send Junmyeon away to commute in such a sorry state. “Hyung, why don’t you just sleep over? Baekhyun won’t be home tonight, anyway. Not that he minds your company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, you just want to spend time with me, don’t you?” Junmyeon teases him, but the effect is mitigated by another big yawn. “Mm. I’ll be fine, Soo-yah, I’ve commuted in far worse conditions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no offense hyung, but you can barely keep your eyes open.” Kyungsoo points out, and rolls his own eyes when the elder attempts to make his bleary eyes look wide awake. He just looks silly. “You have an early lecture tomorrow, right? You need all the rest you can get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Kyungsoo, but I don’t want to impose,” The latter says kindly as he pulls on his boxers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not, don’t worry.” He assures him, and Junmyeon falters in putting on his jeans. Kyungsoo counts that as a win, and delivers what he thinks will be the winning blow: “I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon sighs and drops back the pair of jeans on the floor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bingo.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, all right. For the breakfast.” He crawls back to bed and tucks himself in, too cozy for someone who was almost out of the door a few moments ago. “Mm, I’m already thinking about it. Crispy bacon...warm rice...eggs, of course, over easy because that’s how my mom used to make them...Coffee with a bit of sugar...mmm...” The elder falls asleep once again in record time, still mumbling about breakfast food as he drifts off. Kyungsoo chuckles quietly before climbing on the bed beside him and succumbing to his own exhaustion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That morning, Kyungsoo fries up the last of his bacon (he needs to go grocery shopping soon), heats up leftover rice, and makes a fresh pot of coffee, as promised. He admittedly looks up how to make eggs over easy because he forgot, but cooking eggs is apparently like riding a bike. That, or the breakfast gods are smiling upon him, because they turned out pretty okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon pads out of the bedroom just in time for the last egg to come out of the pan, wet hair dripping all over Kyungsoo’s grey shirt that he is apparently borrowing for the day. He sees the full breakfast spread on the table and beams. “You’re the best, you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyungsoo simply hums around his mug, but a pleased smile creeps up his lips. “It’s just a simple breakfast, hyung.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still. Thank you, Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon says, and Kyungsoo feels warm all over. Perhaps from the coffee.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>fried</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyungsoo and Junmyeon are friends with benefits. There’s no point beating around the bush, calling it differently, sugar coating it with flowery words. It is what it is. They fuck and make out and generally frolick like the hormonal young adults that they are on a regular basis. It’s just convenient that way, saves them the time and effort from weeding out the creeps from the creepier creeps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they are friends first before and more than beneficiaries (?), and so they are comfortable with hanging out even without the pretense of sex, to grab a bite in between classes or study together in the library or crash in Junmyeon’s newly bought couch and binge watch trashy reality TV. Like now. Junmyeon is sprawled across Kyungsoo’s lap, cradling a bowl of popcorn close to his chest while they watch Masterchef reruns. It’s the episode where the contestants have to cook a perfect egg, and Kyungsoo snorts at all the food waste.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with a little crispy edge? That’s the best part.” He scoffs as he makes grabby hands for the bowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d agree, but I don’t think I have the ascendancy to comment,” Junmyeon says around a mouthful of popcorn. Kyungsoo taps him on the forehead admonishingly, and he finishes chewing before continuing. “I mean, at least they can fry an egg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still can’t believe you managed to survive this long without knowing how to fry an egg.” Kyungsoo sighs. “I mean, what do you eat when you have nothing else in your pantry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Takeout?” The elder tries, and Kyungsoo sighs deeply. “Hey, hey, I know how to fry an egg! I just. Don’t do it well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. I’m sure, hyung.” He indulges him, reaching for more popcorn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon sits up indignantly, taking the popcorn bowl with him, and Kyungsoo cries out in protest. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> know!” He repeats. “Just you wait, Doh Kyungsoo, I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow. Fried eggs and toast and whatever else I can find in my fridge. But with fried eggs! Crispy whites, runny yolks, and all!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, hyung, I believe you,” He replies, laughing as he gestures for the bowl. “Now can I please have popcorn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” The elder sticks his tongue out at him. “Make your own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> made that serving!”  Kyungsoo whines. Junmyeon throws a kernel at him before scurrying to the other end of the couch like a cat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Kyungsoo ends up making another batch for himself, salted caramel this time, and carries it to the living room. Moments later, a hand creeps near the bowl and steals a few kernels. Weirdo.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know when he dozed off—Junmyeon fell asleep after two episodes, head pillowed on Kyungsoo’s chest and hands cradling his empty bowl like a teddy bear—but Kyungsoo wakes up to the smell of something burning. His eyes fly open and he jumps up, a purple quilt falling to the floor as he rushes to the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon is standing in front of the stove, holding a spatula like a shield as an egg deep fries in a cast iron pan (why Junmyeon owns one when he can’t even cook for shit is beyond Kyungsoo). The edges are black, almost as black as the pan, but somehow the whites around the yolk are barely set, bubbling violently and noisily as it fries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have you done?” Kyungsoo asks in horror, and the elder jumps at the sound of his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Soo! You’re awake! Breakfast will be ready in a bit,” Junmyeon says with a bright smile, which immediately falters when the oil splutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no it won’t. What are you even cooking?” He tries to peer at the pan, but the latter pulls him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful! It’s splattering everywhere!” Junmyeon hides him behind his back and holds out the spatula like a weapon. “Quick, get behind me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyungsoo takes a deep breath, slowly counts to ten in his mind, and gently pushes down the spatula. “Hyung, it’s not some rabid animal. It’s just an egg.” He reaches around him and turns off the stove. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> how you handle it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon smiles at him sheepishly as he tries his best to extract the burnt (but somehow still raw?) monstrosity from the pan. “Guess I’m a little out of practice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm-hmm.” Kyungsoo shakes his head rather fondly as he reaches for the nonstick pan and places it on the stove. When it’s hot enough, he pours a bit of oil from the still smoking cast iron pan (Junmyeon put </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> too much oil, it’s a shame to let it all go to waste) and swirls it around. He hums a low tune as he cracks an egg directly on the pan, watching it bubble away happily. He feels Junmyeon’s warmth behind him, and he leans against him without looking as he starts pointing out the parts where the elder went wrong, so he knows better. “Medium high heat and hot oil, so the whites can start to cook immediately while the yolk remains runny. Not too much oil though, you’re not trying to deep fry it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the edges of the egg are starting to brown, he takes Junmyeon’s hand and places it on the handle. “Tilt the pan so the oil pools on one side. With your spatula or a spoon if you’re feeling brave, splash the oil on the whites near the yolk so they cook as well.” Kyungsoo demonstrated a few times before handing the spatula over with a reassuring smile. “Now you try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon looks hesitant, but he takes the spatula and tentatively copies what Kyungsoo just did, smiling when Kyungsoo makes a sound of approval. When all of the whites are set, the elder easily pries it out of the pan and places it on a plate. “Hey, it’s perfect!” He grins as he holds it up like a trophy. “Ah, Kyungsoo, what would I do without you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you just make toast instead of buttering </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> up, hyung.” Kyungsoo scoffs and turns to make his own breakfast, ignoring the warmth creeping up his cheeks. It’s because he’s cooking in front of hot pans. Yes, yes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>egg drop soup</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun sees the text first, because Kyungsoo stupidly left his phone on the counter while he reheated their sad </span>
  <em>
    <span>dosirak</span>
  </em>
  <span> dinners from the convenience store a block away (he didn’t want to cook today, and Baekhyun...well, let’s just say he makes Junmyeon look like a MasterChef).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Junmyeon hyung just asked if he can come over tonight.” He announces when Kyungsoo places the one with the sketchy-looking orange meat in front of him. The label says it’s sweet and sour chicken, but they have their doubts. “Should I text Jongin that I’m being sexiled? Maybe he has better dinner options.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, we’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> loud.” Kyungsoo rolls his eyes as he opens his supposedly beef with broccoli dinner. It’s haphazardly cut chunks of meat with three tiny florets and a bunch of broccoli stems. Could be worse. “And hey, he didn’t insinuate anything. Maybe he just wants to hang out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh, sure. Is that what you kids call it these days?” Baekhyun teases, popping a rather big chunk of chicken in his mouth. He then gasps and rapidly chews it in an attempt to cool the hot mouthful of food. Kyungsoo snorts and pushes his glass of water towards his silly roommate, choosing not to comment. It’s rather a regular occurence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone pings again, and he remembers that he didn’t respond yet to Junmyeon’s text. True enough, it’s the elder sending him a bunch of crying emojis, no doubt trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>aegyo</span>
  </em>
  <span> his way into a yes. As if he would say no. Kyungsoo shakes his head and replies </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah sure, but if you’re coming over for food i’m afraid we only have shitty dosirak to offer </span>
  </em>
  <span>before locking his phone and shoveling a spoonful of his own food into his mouth. Huh, not bad at all. Almost tastes like homemade food, even. Great job, random convenience store. He silently polishes off his dinner while Baekhyun blabs about the latest Netflix show he’s binging and how the cloth he was working with today (he’s taking a minor in Fashion Design) just won’t cooperate, and some other things that fly by his head. Not that he’s excited for Junmyeon to arrive, no. Or for what they’re gonna do tonight. Nope. He’s just. Enjoying his dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(And if he uses his special jasmine-scented body scrub during his evening shower, and actually takes time to wash his hair with Baekhyun’s nicer shampoo (don’t tell him), and lathers his entire body in lotion instead of his lazy weekday routine of hands, elbows, and knees, no one has to know.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doorbell rings just as Kyungsoo exits the bathroom, and he pointedly ignores Baekhyun’s wolf whistle from his room (yes, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> loud) as he pads towards the doorway. Anticipation pools in his gut, warm and low as he swings the door open—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>—and sees Junmyeon in all his pale, red-nosed glory, bundled up in the thick black hoodie he only uses when he’s sick. The warm feeling turns into ice, creeping through his veins and making his heart stutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” The elder says, voice all muffled and stuffy. He looks like a few gentle nudges away from collapsing on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to you?” Kyungsoo asks in lieu of a greeting, ushering him in and quickly locking the door. “You look </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> sound terrible. Did you catch a cold?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, probably from one of the kids in the preschool. Think three of them were coughing last week.” Junmyeon hums, letting himself be led to the dining area. He sinks on the dining chair, sighing in thinly veiled exhaustion. “You know how kids cough, all open-mouthed and gross. It was inevitable, to be honest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyungsoo lets out a soft sigh of his own as he takes out the ginger tea bags from the cupboard. He pours hot water into a mug—a tacky souvenir mug from Osaka, Junmyeon’s designated mug in Kyungsoo’s flat—and dunks the tea bag in it with thinly veiled exasperation. “I told you to take more vitamins. It’s flu season, hyung, you should’ve been more careful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forget, sometimes.” Junmyeon admits. Kyungsoo turns his head to level a glare at him, but it’s soft in the corners with worry. The latter smiles gently at that. “I’m sorry, Kyungsoo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky I still have ginger tea left,” He says as he puts some lemon juice and honey into the mug before turning and placing it in front of the elder. “But wait, shouldn’t you be resting? Why did you commute all the way here?” Kyungsoo’s flat is a little far from university, about a fifteen-minute bus ride away. Junmyeon lives much nearer their campus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minseok’s still out of town. Didn’t wanna be alone while I’m dying.” Junmyeon mumbles around his tea, but Kyungsoo hears him loud and clear just the same. His heart thaws a little, at that. However, the elder looks up and notices his damp bangs sticking to his forehead and frowns. “Oh no, I just realized how my text sounded like. You even showered already...Oh no, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the ice is back, piling over his heart and making his chest feel heavy. “Not everything is about you, hyung. I just wanted to shower.“ He teases lightheartedly, and the snow dissipates a little with the upward quirk of Junmyeon’s lips. “Finish your tea and let’s go to bed, hm? You need all the rest you can get before your class tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon finishes his tea after a few moments of comfortable silence, and Kyungsoo leaves the mug on the counter for the time being. He’ll wash that tomorrow. For now, he lets the elder lean on him as they make their way to the bedroom. He deposits Junmyeon on the bed and tucks him in, fluffs his pillows, and generally frets around until the elder chuckles and grabs his wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, it’s just a cold. Don’t worry too much,”  Junmyeon says. Kyungsoo sighs and nods and doesn’t say anything, lest he replies with something dumb like </span>
  <em>
    <span>too late</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t tell me what to do</span>
  </em>
  <span> or even </span>
  <em>
    <span>but I always worry about you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Instead, he turns off the lights and climbs beside the elder, who moves on autopilot to initiate cuddles. Junmyeon’s skin is warm, his forehead burning Kyungsoo’s skin as it presses against the curve of his neck, his shaky fingers tiny embers resting on his arm. Kyungsoo reaches up to comb through Junmyeon’s hair soothingly, the smooth locks falling through his fingers as he worries, worries, worries. He only lets himself breathe when the puffs of breath on his chest—warm and muggy even through his sleep shirt—evens out into a light snore, and he falls asleep not long after that, the ice in his veins seeping out of his system with every exhale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the morning, Kyungsoo stands on the counters and gets the dusty leather notebook stashed safely on his topmost kitchen cupboard shelf. It’s a recipe notebook from his grandmother, and he kept it there so he won’t mix it up with his school notebooks. He doesn’t really need them, seeing as he memorized almost all of the recipes he can cook in his flat’s tiny kitchen, but today he flips through it to look for a specific recipe: egg drop soup, the kind his mom makes for him on rainy days. The recipe calls for fresh chicken broth, but it’s eight in the morning, his coffee maker isn’t done brewing his much needed coffee, and he has no chicken bones or fresh herbs or butcher’s twine for the bouquet garni. He does have a carton of chicken stock though, supposedly for an abandoned attempt at homemade xiao long bao. Good enough, he thinks as he dumps the entire serving and a few knobs of ginger (again, abandoned XLB leftovers) into a pot. He waits for the stock to boil before adding a bit of cornstarch and streaming the beaten eggs into the thickened soup. He ladles a good serving into a bowl, grabs the leftover garlic bread from dinner two nights ago that he heated in the toaster, and makes his way towards his bedroom, carefully balancing the food in a tray that Baekhyun uses to carry his dinner to his room whenever he’s gaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon is awake when he gently kicks the door open, although he is still wrapped up in blankets. Only his hair and eyes are visible from under the covers, tufts of black and barely open orbs of brown. Cute. “What’s that,” He mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breakfast. I made you soup, to warm you up a little more.” Kyungsoo waits for the elder to sit up and stretch before placing the tray on the bed. “Eat up, hyung. You need the extra energy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon stares at the tray for a few moments before looking up at him and smiling. It’s a tired smile, one that makes his eyes close rather than crinkle, but a genuine one nonetheless. “Thank you, Soo-yah,” He says softly, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “You really didn’t have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to.” Kyungsoo answers, and finds that he means it. There’s no ice in his blood today, no snow weighing down his heart, no anxiousness pooling in his gut, only the gentle warmth that’s becoming a regular thing these days. He pays it no mind and watches Junmyeon eat instead, a small smile on his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>french </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In retrospect, Kyungsoo has had worse hookups, and his night wasn’t completely terrible per se. But still, he can’t help but feel a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> disappointed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>See, their night started with Junmyeon picking him up from class in his shiny car, looking downright sinful in his new denim jacket and distressed jeans. They grabbed a quick bite at the snazzy burger joint near Junmyeon’s apartment, the one full of neon lights and retro decor, the one that makes Junmyeon look straight out of an old school movie with his hair pushed back and his collar slightly popped and his gentle smile bordering on a smirk that promises </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The elder then surprised him with a side trip to his favorite ice cream shop, and they ate their ice creams—cookie dough for Kyungsoo, butter pecan for Junmyeon—inside Junmyeon’s car while singing along to the evening radio. One clichéd let-me-wipe-your-mouth-for-you moment later and they were full on making out, Kyungsoo almost halfway out of his chair as he held onto Junmyeon’s shoulders for support. When they stopped to catch their breath, Junmyeon whispered, “My place tonight?” Kyungsoo murmured his assent against his jaw, relishing the shiver that came with each nip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now they’re in Junmyeon’s flat, lazily kissing against his bedroom door like they have all the time in the world. And they do—Junmyeon doesn’t have class until the afternoon, and Kyungsoo’s only lab class got cancelled because his professor is out of the country for some important convention. They can take their time today, and they make good use of this by kissing. Why not. It’s fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bed?” Junmyeon asks in between kisses. “Am getting kinda tired of standing up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already? We haven’t even started yet,” Kyungsoo teases, but he pulls away nonetheless and leads him towards the bed. He flops on his back and tugs the elder’s arm, laughing as Junmyeon falls on top of him with a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>oof</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I was holding you up that door. You’re heavy.” Junmyeon huffs, and Kyungsoo laughs harder before reaching up to kiss his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not my fault you make me weak in the knees,” He says smoothly, grinning when Junmyeon’s eyes darken before he dives back in to claim his mouth. All jokes aside, this new position is much more comfortable; while Junmyeon practically carrying him as they kiss is hot and all, memory foam is way better in supporting his back than a solid door. Junmyeon is a welcome weight against his own body, warm and sturdy and comforting, his undershirt (they lost the denim jacket in the living room) soft and smooth against Kyungsoo’s wandering hands. They could stay like this forever, tangled in each other’s limbs, nestled in pillows and silky sheets, with nothing to worry about—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something in Junmyeon’s pocket starts vibrating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately for Kyungsoo, said pocket is pressed up against his inner thigh where he is most ticklish, and he yelps in surprise. “Hyung, your phone is tickling me,” He groans, pushing Junmyeon’s leg off his. “It’s almost eleven, who could be calling you at this hour?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, sorry about that. I could’ve sworn I put it in do not disturb.” Junmyeon rolls over to the empty side of the bed to pull out his phone. To Kyungsoo’s surprise, he just tosses it to the side before reaching towards him and pulls him closer, lips finding the curve of his neck like a magnet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you going to see who it was,” Kyungsoo asks, breath hitching with every graze of Junmyeon’s teeth against his skin. “Might—ah, might be—important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing else really matters to me right now.” Junmyeon answers before tugging him down to kiss him. Kyungsoo lets himself get lost in the heat of Junmyeon’s mouth, the sparks from Junmyeon’s fingertips as they slowly ruck up his sweater, the sturdy lines of Junmyeon’s body as the elder lies flat on his back, supporting Kyungsoo’s weight on top of him with relative ease (despite his teasing earlier), and does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> think of the gentle warmth that bursts in his chest at Junmyeon’s words. He lets himself get lost, nothing else really mattering to him except Junmyeon, Junmyeon, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Junmyeon</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon’s phone starts vibrating again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking hell,” He curses as they pull apart, running a hand through his face in clear frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really should answer that first. Seems important,” Kyungsoo says kindly, leaning down to kiss his cheek in assurance. “I don’t mind, hyung.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, I should. I’m sorry, Soo-yah.” Junmyeon sighs before retrieving his phone and checking the caller ID. “Fucking Yifan. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He growls angrily as he answers, and Kyungsoo doesn’t know if he should be amused or turned on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t get the chance to decide because before he knows it, Junmyeon suddenly sits up in shock. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!” He yells angrily. Kyungsoo also jolts in surprise, but the elder is quick to hold him steady with an arm around his waist. “What do you mean our demo class is tomorrow? I scheduled this next Tuesday!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I’m sorry.” Thanks to their newfound proximity, Kyungsoo can hear Yifan groveling on the other end of the line. “Professor Cho called me earlier. Apparently the kids have an event next week and tomorrow is the only day they can accommodate us. They needed an answer on the spot, and I couldn’t find a good date…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon sighs exasperatedly, and Kyungsoo amusedly watches him soundlessly count from one to ten before replying, “Please tell me it’s in the afternoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. “Um.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment Junmyeon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, Kyungsoo quickly rests a hand on Junmyeon’s shoulder and runs his thumb across his neck soothingly. It works, and the elder exhales slowly. “What time?” He asks, eerily calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten-thirty. I tried pushing it to after lunch, but that’s Sooyoung’s group’s original schedule,” Yifan says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right. We can work with that,”  Junmyeon replies. “I’ll work on the visual aids. You break the news to the others, I’m not facing Joohyun’s wrath over this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I got that. Thanks, Junmyeon-ah. Let me know how else I can help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For starters, forward these calls to me.” The elder grits his teeth, and Kyungsoo snorts in amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, will do.” Yifan pauses, the pipes up, “But you weren’t even answering my calls—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Yifan,” Junmyeon announces before ending the call and tossing his phone to the side. He lets out a long, frustrated groan and rests his forehead on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “I hate my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There, there. Duty calls, Teacher Junmyeon.” Kyungsoo reaches up to stroke his hair gently, chuckling when the elder sighs like an overgrown cat. “What do you need for tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re teaching them basic addition tomorrow, so I need to cut out a lot of numbers, for one,” He says gloomily. “I also have to finish the worksheets I was making, as well as stick flowers on popsicle sticks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?” Kyungsoo asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A maths garden? I don’t know, it was Joohyun’s idea. I’m just the visual aids maker.” Junmyeon shrugs before looking at him with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Kyungsoo. I’ve ruined another night. I swear I blocked off tonight just for you. I didn’t expect this at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, hey, no need to apologize.” He cradles the elder’s face in his hands, and if his touch is a tad too tender, Junmyeon doesn’t call him out on it. “I’ve had a fun night, Yifan cockblocking us notwithstanding. Dinner was great. Besides, this is much more important. Your kids need you. What will they say if their future </span>
  <em>
    <span>seonsaengnim </span>
  </em>
  <span>traded lesson prep for a good ol’ make out session, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon laughs, his eyes crinkling. “They’ll probably yell at me for being shameless, then pressure me to ask you to play with them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, won’t that be a treat. But I will not allow you to taint your preschoolers’ young minds, hyung, they’re still too young to realize that teachers exist out of the classroom too.” Kyungsoo hits him on the shoulder before scrambling off his lap. “Now c’mon, let’s work! Can I do the cutouts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon doesn’t move from the bed, just gapes at him with wide eyes. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” He asks, hands on his hips. “I’ll help, it’ll make things much easier. Thank me later, get up! we have a lot to do</span>
  <em>
    <span>!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elder takes a few moments to process his words before shaking his head fondly as he climbs out of bed. “You’re the best, you know that?” He says, planting a quick kiss on Kyungsoo’s temple before gathering the supplies that they need. Kyungsoo doesn’t reply, just takes a seat on Junmyeon’s study table and smiles to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing Junmyeon work on materials for his classes is fascinating. His eyes shine differently as he works, determined to make sure that everything is set for the preschoolers that they teach. He barely moves from where he’s seated on the floor, typing away at his laptop, muttering to himself on what simpler words to use for the worksheets he’s making. Kyungsoo allows himself a few glances before going back to his huge pile of cardboard, waiting to be cut into numbers. He breezes through about a third of the pile before his hands start to ache, and he takes a moment to stretch and check the time. 12:18.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done!” Junmyeon cheers, and Kyungsoo leans over to give him a high five. “Just have to print these and sort them into piles before working on the popsicle flowers. God, I’m exhausted. Yifan owes me </span>
  <em>
    <span>big time.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He better treat me to a meal tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell him he owes me, too,” Kyungsoo jokes as he picks up the scissors once again. These numbers won’t cut themselves out. “I expect hanwoo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do, you really do. I’m sorry for making you work, Kyungsoo-yah,” Junmyeon apologizes for the nth time that night. “You can go rest, you’ve done so much, I can handle this—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hyung. It’s fine. I wanted to help.” He smiles at him reassuringly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still, I feel really bad.” The elder goes up to him and rests his chin on his arm, like a puppy. “Let me make you breakfast? To make up for it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyungsoo laughs at the memory of Junmyeon being scared of eggs, but he pats Junmyeon’s head indulgently anyway. “Okay, hyung. Make me a French omelet and I’ll call it quits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal!” Junmyeon grins and scurries off to print his worksheets, leaving Kyungsoo to chuckle to himself as he cuts his twentieth 8 of the night. Silly hyung.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loses track of time after that, too preoccupied with the tasks at hand to check the clock every so often. He doesn’t know what time he finally finished the pile, or how many fabric flowers did he successfully stick on popsicle sticks, or how Junmyeon attempted to glue a flower on his temple with a sleep-deprived cackle. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep; all he remembers is sitting on the floor with Junmyeon, leaning against the bed as he presses the flower firmly onto the popsicle stick and chatting about the most random of topics. He must’ve nodded off when Junmyeon went out to get a snack. Nevertheless, Kyungsoo wakes up alone in Junmyeon’s bed, wrapped snugly in blankets that smell faintly like vanilla. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and squints at the clock. 8:48AM. That explains the empty bed; Junmyeon must be preparing for his demo class. He clambers out of bed and takes a moment to stretch before padding towards the kitchen, debating whether he should cook or order food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer is neither, because the first thing Kyungsoo sees is Junmyeon hunched over the stove, holding a rubber spatula aloft like a warrior would with his spear. Except the elder is not a warrior nor is he going to battle—his armor is his soft undershirt from last night and basketball shorts; his helmet, a head of sleep-tousled hair falling over his glasses; and his enemy, a pan of scrambled eggs. On the kitchen counter, there is a plate full of scrambled eggs in various states of doneness, and right beside it is an almost empty tray of brown eggs awaiting their turn to be cooked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Kyungsoo asks in lieu of a greeting. This feels all too familiar; his sleep-addled brain helpfully flashes back to the time Junmyeon tried to fry an egg. Judging by the fact that the eggs are not about to explode in oil, at least he has some semblance of progress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Instead of an answer, Junmyeon shushes him as he tries to roll the eggs over itself. The egg flops onto itself rather easily, showing a giant tear on its lightly browned underside. The elder groans and drops the spatula on the counter in frustration. Kyungsoo stifles a laugh as he pads towards the latter and retrieves the spatula from him. “What are you doing?” He repeats, gentler this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making you breakfast.” Junmyeon answers as he turns the stove off, like that’s enough to explain...all of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I got that part down,” He says slowly, flipping the omelet onto the plate of eggs. It’s not bad, only a tad overcooked. “But why is there a mountain of eggs here? We’re only eating for two. Minseok hyung is out of town, isn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. But I promised you a French omelet last night, for all your help. </span>
  <em>
    <span>These</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Junymeon gestures to the pile of eggs that are looking more and more pitiful with each glance, “are not French omelets. The Bon Appetit video I watched said that a French omelet is supposed to be rolled nicely and pale and custardy inside. These are not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyungsoo blinks, confused. He knows he just got a full explanation, but he’s left more confused than ever. “Hyung, it’s almost nine. Your demo class is at ten-thirty. You can’t spend the entire morning attempting to make something that even trained chefs have difficulty making.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you want one.” Junmyeon counters, brow furrowed in determination. “And I promised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hyung—” An admonishment starts to bubble up from his throat, but one look at Junmyeon’s eyes that shine earnestly even through the exhaustion, and he softens with a sigh. “Thank you, I really do appreciate it. But you don’t have to make me one. I’m fine with a boiled egg and rice, to be honest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Kyungsoo, you’ve done so much for my demo class today, even if you didn’t have to. I feel terrible for not even being able to repay you by making you a meal,” The elder says, the furrow between his brows deepening. In an unexplainable bout of tenderness that he will vehemently deny later, Kyungsoo smiles and reaches up to smooth it down with a gentle thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’ll feel more terrible,” He replies softly, “if you’re late to your demo class that we worked so hard on because I made you slave over my breakfast. Have you even eaten breakfast, hyung?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No…” Junmyeon mumbles, glancing down. “I’m sorry, Soo-yah. I can’t even do this for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need for apologies. There is nothing to be sorry for.” Kyungsoo plants a quick kiss on his temple, swift but reassuring all the same. “Why don’t you go prepare for class, and I’ll handle breakfast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon nods at him before sullenly shuffling to the bathroom, looking like a dejected bunny. Kyungsoo shakes his head fondly before assessing the damage he has done. They’re really not bad at all, and the plate is just essentially a pile of scrambled eggs in various shapes. A quick survey of the almost empty fridge reveals mayonnaise, a near empty jar of pickle relish, and the loaf of milk bread Kyungsoo bought the elder three days ago. Oh, and a pack of fancy deli ham that is undeniably Minseok’s. With a triumphant grin, he gathers his desired ingredients and gets to work—finely chopping the omelet rejects until they look like crumbled yellow cake, scooping out a generous amount of mayo, adding just a touch of pickles because Junmyeon likes it, mixing it until the squelching becomes too unbearable. Cutting off the crusts of the bread before warming them in the toaster, nibbling on them mindlessly while figuring out how to turn on Junmyeon’s fancy coffee maker (and mentally affirming himself for choosing a simple, no-nonsense coffee maker for his own kitchen). Assembling the sandwiches—only one of them has the fancy ham—before wrapping them in brown paper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyungsoo looks up from doodling a bunny on the sandwich with the fancy ham. Junmyeon emerges from his bedroom, damp hair sticking to his forehead as he tries to fix his sleeves. He has a cream colored sweater vest over his white button up, paired with plain black slacks that make him look more like a college professor than a preschool teacher. “Why does this have a bunny on it? Is this special?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm-hmm.” Kyungsoo drops the pen to fuss over the elder’s sleeves instead, folding it artfully. “I made you and your groupmates egg sandwiches so you can eat before your demo class starts. The one with the bunny’s yours, I stole Minseok hyung’s ham for you. Don’t give it to Yifan, he does not deserve pilfered fancy ham.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon looks up at him, eyes soft. “Kyungsoo…” He whispers, almost reverently. Kyungsoo’s hands still from his task, fingers shaking slightly with the intensity of the latter’s gaze on him, brushing on soft cotton and softer skin with every tremor. “ I don’t deserve you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No you don’t,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kyungsoo thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you deserve so much better.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be late,” He says instead, training his eyes back to the elder’s sleeves. If he concentrates hard enough, his hands stop shaking long enough to smooth all the wrinkles away from the cuffs. “Let me know how it goes, okay? Say hello to the kids for me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>six minute soft boiled</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They first started this arrangement over </span>
  <em>
    <span>somaek</span>
  </em>
  <span>, green bottles and empty cans littering the floor of Junmyeon’s bedroom like an obstacle course for their inebriated asses. They had just finished eating their way through a buy two take one chicken deal, some cheesy romcom was on, and Junmyeon’s head was heavy on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. The elder had just gotten over a messy breakup, Kyungsoo had just flunked a big test that he didn’t sleep for, and all their friends were out on dates on a lovely Saturday night. Not them, because they were both single (Junmyeon recently so) and lonely. They only had each other. It has always been like that, even before they settled for each other’s warmth and company and skin and breathy broken moans that night, even before they woke up the next morning and had another round in the shower, even before they tentatively and awkwardly met up after hours for trysts unknown to the world, even before they found rhythm and confidence in their arrangement. They always had each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lines blur, sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyungsoo knows how fuck buddies work. He knows it’s already unusual that they go for meals that sometimes feel like dates, that they have spare keys to each other’s apartments, that they cook for each other (mostly Kyungsoo) or commute to school together or bring each other coffee to class (mostly Junmyeon). There are no hard and fast rules to being friends with benefits, no implementing guidelines, no rulebook—god, things would be so much better if there was one—but Kyungsoo knows they’re not supposed to be like...this. It’s all about the benefit: plain old sex. Fucking. Intercourse. Mating, if one boils it down to its animalistic origin. Whatever kids call it these days, or whatever conservatives use to not talk about it because somehow it’s still taboo to them. That’s the benefit, not companionship, not shared meals, not heart to hearts on the couch at midnight, not soft kisses and tender gazes and words that leave warmth in their trail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet. And yet there are days where they don’t even touch each other, don’t even consider so much as making out, don’t even throw an innuendo here and there. There are days where they just become an exhausted pile of limbs on the bed or the couch or sometimes even the floor (Kyungsoo’s new carpet is very soft and hypoallergenic, he scored a great deal from the home shopping network that he was mindlessly watching with Junmyeon two weeks ago), sleeping through some movie that they’ll just look up the synopsis of later. There are days where their gazes meet and their hands touch and their shoulders bump and everything just falls into place, and everything feels warmer and brighter and better, somehow. There are days where they forget they were only supposed to be friends who fuck, and not something else. Something more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyungsoo wakes up to a warm weight on top of his body and silky brown hair under his nose. A warm hand clutches the hem of his sleep shirt, a sharp nose burrows almost instinctively into the curve of his neck, the ghost of chapped lips brushing across his collarbone. That’s funny, he could’ve sworn he went to sleep alone, but one whiff of vanilla and his lips quirk up into a smile. He raises a hand and gently strokes the elder’s hair, humming under his breath. The minutes pass by without him noticing, the last few vestiges of sleepiness making time an abstract construct, and eventually he feels the man on top of him stir awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” He says, and Junmyeon looks up at the sound of his voice. It takes a while to register, but when it does, he smiles sleepily. “How was the ride back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Boring. Bus took a few detours on the way back.” The elder mumbles, settling back on top of Kyungsoo’s chest. He resumes stroking his hair with a soft hum. “Still, I’m glad I took your advice and went home for the weekend. Mom needed the extra help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad. How’s your grandmother?” Junmyeon’s grandmother was sick, and he went all the way to the countryside to visit her. He almost didn’t go, but Kyungsoo managed to talk him into making the commute even if he has another demo class next week and helped him book a ticket even if the buses were almost fully booked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s better now. Doctors say it’s just a bad bout of the flu, but she’s getting old. Even a simple cold can be harsh on her body.” Junmyeon sighs. “She says hello, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Kyungsoo’s hand stills from its ministrations, and the elder lets out a soft sound of protest, pushing against his hand like a cat. “She knows me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. Mom also didn’t want me to go down there to help out because she knows it’s almost midterms season, but I told her my friend convinced me.” Junmyeon explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something heavy drops on Kyungsoo’s gut, something akin to—dare he say it—disappointment. Ah, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Of course. How else would’ve Junmyeon introduced him? His casual lover? His fuck buddy? His boyfriend in every sense of the word except they’re not even dating? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, she made too many marinated eggs, and told me to bring back some. I placed it inside your fridge.” The latter continues, oblivious to the turmoil clashing just under the warmth of his palm as he tugs Kyungsoo closer for warmth. “Let’s have it with rice later for breakfast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” He agrees easily, as if he can refuse anything the elder asks of him. A beat, then: “Why are you here, hyung?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Junmyeon looks up at him again. His eyes are half-closed from exhaustion. Kyungsoo wants to drop the subject and just let him sleep, but he swallows his hesitation and powers forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here?” He asks softly, almost inaudibly. “Why did you go here, instead of your apartment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you not want me to be here?” Junmyeon asks, in return. His grip on his sleep shirt doesn’t relent, but something in his sleepy, half-hidden gaze flickers with uncertainty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do.” Kyungsoo answers, mentally patting himself on the back for keeping his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I do, too.” The elder smiles at him—it’s soft around the edges, as if his lips are unsure—before burrowing back to the warmth of Kyungsoo’s collar. “I missed you, over the weekend. Wanted to see you when I got back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart stutters at that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Traitor</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “It was just an overnight trip, don’t be too dramatic.” He mumbles. He feels Junmyeon smile against his skin, but he doesn’t get a reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Later that morning, when he finally manages to extract himself from Junmyeon’s octopus arms, Kyungsoo pads to the kitchen and makes rice for breakfast, as promised. He opens his fridge and takes out the cloth-wrapped container, stares at the eggs bouncing against one another in their pool of soy sauce and spices. He runs a thumb across the tape on the cover, with </span>
  <em>
    <span>For Kyungsoo</span>
  </em>
  <span> scrawled on it with a green marker, and tries not to dwell on this morning’s conversation, tries not to think about the warmth in his arms and </span>
  <em>
    <span>my friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I missed you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, tries not to feel the disappointment churning in his gut and the confusion clouding his mind and the ever so traitorous hope seeping through his heart and making him think of possibilities that shouldn’t even be considered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rice cooker beeps, the eggs warm through after simmering in a pot, Junmyeon finally wakes up when he smells coffee, and Kyungsoo fails. Terribly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he cuts through an egg, exposing the golden jammy yolk that slowly trickles onto the bed of rice, he feels his own heart break at his naivety.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>for two, with you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon is usually the earlier riser between the two of them, even on days that he does not have morning classes. He likes to wake up early and do a workout while Kyungsoo sleeps in, burrowed under the sheets for as long as unconsciousness consumes him (or his schedule allows). Junmyeon says he likes the quietness of early mornings, the warmth of the morning sunshine, the slow pace of the world before rush hour hits. Kyungsoo...well, Kyungsoo just likes to sleep in. He knows morning sun is good for you (or is that just for babies?), but you know what’s better? More sleep. Yes, nothing beats good old Z’s, not even the lack of hustling passersby in the streets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But today, on a Saturday morning welcomed by a light drizzle softly pattering on the windows, they’re both wrapped up in Junmyeon’s oversized quilt the color of a perfectly golden egg yolk, sleeping the exhaustion from last week away. It’s late, even for Kyungsoo, even more so for Junmyeon, but it’s a Saturday; who’s counting? Certainly not Kyungsoo, whose chin is resting on top of a tuft of soft brown hair, arms wrapped around the man lying half on top of him like the world’s warmest plushie. Certainly not Junmyeon, said world’s warmest plushie, whose cheek is resting on Kyungsoo’s chest, a hand loosely wrapped around Kyungsoo’s wrist. Their legs are tangled together, a mess of blue (Junmyeon’s pajama pants) and tan (Kyungsoo’s bare legs), and it’s hard to see where one body ends and another begins. Overall a nice way to spend rainy Saturday mornings: cuddles, warmth, and the bliss of dreams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyungsoo wakes up first, brow furrowing at the sound of thunder from a distance. He takes a long deep breath and is immediately hit by the scent of vanilla—a normal occurrence lately, he thinks with a fond smile that creeps up his lips like an old habit. He raises a hand, the one not held captive by the elder’s cold fingers, and strokes Junmyeon’s back gently, fingertips drawing nonsensical patterns across the broad surface, tan skirting across wrinkled white. The ministrations are enough to rouse the latter from his deep slumber, and he lets out a snort, a huge yawn, and a soft rumbling sound of contentment, in that order, like a cat. “Good morning,” Junmyeon mumbles, voice low and scratchy with sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning. Slept well?” Kyungsoo replies, moving his hand upwards to stroke the elder’s hair soothingly. “You slept in today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, it’s been a long week.” Junmyeon lets out another yawn, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s for breakfast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want? I’ll cook,” He says. “Do you want </span>
  <em>
    <span>doenjang jjigae</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I think I have a bit of beef left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That takes too long, I’m hungry.” The elder huffs, but he shifts closer to Kyungsoo and closes his eyes again. “Can we decide later? Let’s sleep some more, Soo-yah…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hyung, it’s almost ten.” Kyungsoo laughs—not too hard, lest he jostles the very comfortable Junmyeon—and scratches at his scalp lightly. “Let me go, I’ll make us food so you can wake up.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon groans, but he relents and lets Kyungsoo escape his clutches anyway. “Spam and eggs?” He suggests hopefully as Kyungsoo climbs out of bed and stretches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. How do you like your eggs?” He asks as he raises his arms over his head, bones cracking into place rather satisfyingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fried, please. I’ll help in a bit, let me just...reboot…” Junmyeon trails off as he slowly buries himself under the covers again, eyes closed. “Five more minutes…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Kyungsoo doesn’t even hold back his snort of laughter as he shuffles to the kitchen. The elder will take more than five minutes to ‘reboot,’ but he doesn’t mind, he’s got a lot of cooking to do anyway. He retrieves a can of Spam from the cupboard, thinly slicing half and cutting the rest into strips (Junmyeon likes his spam thin and crispy, Kyungsoo likes to actually be able to feel that he’s eating something). While the meat sizzles away in one pan, he gets to work on their eggs: fried for Junmyeon, with a perfectly runny yolk and lacey brown edges, slow and low scrambled eggs for him, with a little too much butter and half a Kraft single torn up (somehow, Junmyeon has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bunch</span>
  </em>
  <span> of them in his fridge; why he needs only half a perfectly sized serving of cheese is beyond Kyungsoo). The rice is warming in the tiny rice cooker, the fancy coffee maker whirring happily right beside it, and Kyungsoo is content.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pair of muscular arms suddenly snake around his waist as he finishes his scrambled eggs, and Kyungsoo would’ve jumped in surprise if not for the familiar warmth resting on his back and the omnipresent cloud of vanilla invading his senses, permeating even through the smell of frying oil. “Looks good,” Junmyeon says happily, resting his chin on his shoulder with a hum. “Until now, I still don’t know how you cook eggs so well. That looks like an emoji.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think there’s something wrong with your emojis,” Kyungsoo answers as he transfers the eggs to a plate, and he smiles at the comforting rumble of Junmyeon’s laughter, filling the kitchen and the tiny flat and Kyungsoo’s entire being with light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind, as long as my emojis looked like food that you cooked for me.” Junmyeon turns his head to press a gentle kiss on his temple. “Thank you, Kyungsoo. I’m so lucky to have you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butterflies in his stomach awaken at those words, and Kyungsoo’s heart skips as his body unconsciously leans closer, seeking Junmyeon’s warmth. “Am I? Yours, I mean?” He dares to ask, even if his hands shake as he turns off the burner, even if the ice threatens to creep past the hope in his heart, even if he’s risking losing everything, losing </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> with that question. But he has to know. He deserves to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junmyeon smiles and gently spins him around, one hand reaching up to brush the errant hairs from his forehead. His hand is shaking too, Kyungsoo notices faintly, even if the arm supporting him is sturdy and unrelenting. “If you’ll have me,” He answers, hesitant but hopeful. As if Kyungsoo would say no. As if Kyungsoo would refuse. As if Kyungsoo would let this go, like Kyungsoo didn’t dream of this, didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>yearn</span>
  </em>
  <span> for this. Clearly, Junmyeon doesn’t know him that well—but that’s okay, they can figure each other out. Together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you can’t even properly fry an egg, let alone make an omelet” He hums, even as his heart soars with happiness, even as the ice melts away to give way to the warm hope singing through his veins, even as the weight in his gut dissipates and lets him breathe easy, for once. His smile gives him away, but Junmyeon indulges him anyway with a wide grin of his own. “But I guess you’ll do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take it,” Junmyeon says, and Kyungsoo laughs as they lean forward and meet each other in a kiss. It’s familiar, but different: unlike their previous kisses that are rushed, hurried, eager, and charged, this one is soft, tender, chaste, and heavy with unspoken longing and pent up feelings and promises of </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>, more breakfasts for two and lazy Saturdays and navigating through this crazy world together and everything in between. Before, it just feels like a rush of adrenaline and libido and excitement; now, it just feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like everything has finally fallen into place, after being in disarray for so long, like finally coming home after a long trip. And it makes sense, because theirs wasn’t the smoothest of journeys; they didn’t get together in the most conventional of ways, they even got lost at one point, trying to find where they stand with each other. But that’s all in the past, because they’re home now; here, in Junmyeon’s tiny kitchen, wrapped in each other’s gentle embrace, with coffee and rice and crispy Spam and eggs for two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just the way they like it.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title is once again from Better Together by Jack Johnson. Talk about a throwback to my first fic lol. ANYWAY, how's everyone doing? Hope you are all staying sane and safe during these trying times! Grad school made me lose all semblance of creativity, but the lockdown forced me to find healthy ways to cope, so here we are. Hope this giant brain fart makes your day a little bit brighter! Always wash your hands, practice social distancing, donate to hospitals and organizations if you can, block any antis maligning EXO's image and spreading false rumors and/or their private information, and avoid hoarding especially medical equipment for our frontliners! :) </p><p>Feel free to tell me how dumb this is on <a href="http://twitter.com/apaixon0">Twitter</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>